


Warmth

by Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr/pseuds/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr





	Warmth

It felt good.

Was there something wrong with that? That it felt good?

The small space of time would be burned into his mind forever.

He could still smell him. His mechfluid, and the slightly off smell of a mech who worked himself far too hard, on far too little rest and energon. His particular smell.

When he'd sent out the distress signal to Iacon, that his mission had gone so far south it might as well be in Kaon, the last person he had expected to arrive had been Prowl.

Yet, there, silhouetted in the bright, to Jazz, light, he stood, with a strangely unreadable expression on his face.

Jazz wondered now if it had been relief or terror that had twisted Prowl's features so.

The other black and white had crept into Jazz's hiding place, moving with a smoothness and a silence that told where he had gotten his name from. Unable to use his voice due to the way Starscream had crushed his throat, Jazz flashed a small light at the Autobot Second In Command, until he got his attention.

They spoke in hand signals that they had practiced long ago.

_Where are you damaged?_ Prowl's hands were a flurry of movement in the half-light.

_Throat, legs, transformation cog_ , Jazz replied, his own black hands difficult to make out. The mech fluid dripping down from his shoulder helped, catching the light and making his fingers more definable. _Right shoulder_ , he added a few moments later, having forgotten about the first nick when the rest had happened.

_Can you stand? Walk? Transform?_

This time Jazz merely shook his head leaning against the wall and feeling fluid drip down his arm to pool under his elbow on the floor. Prowl didn't even sigh in exasperation. They couldn't afford the sound. The tactician used a small pin light to examine Jazz's injuries and do what he could for them; ever since the Medical Center had been bombed Ratchet had made it a point to make sure that all of the officers had at least a basic knowledge of repair.

It was a good thing, too, as it greatly reduced the numbers of Autobots who died in the field because a medic couldn't get to them in time, but an officer could. It meant Jazz and Prowl no longer had to watch as their people died. They could do something about it.

Prowl shook Jazz's shoulder and the agent realized he had been zoning. He straitened and flashed Prowl a small, apologetic smile. _Sorry,_ his hands said, _what?_ Even concentrating, in the half light, Prowl's hands were a white blur the first few words.

_...Underpowered. The shot to your shoulder hit a major fuel line. I've patched it, in a few moments I'll give you some mid-grade. How do you feel?_

_Like slag_ , Jazz said with a grin, _but that's normal. Thanks, Prowl. Owe you. Got the info._

Something softened in Prowl's face. It was almost undetectable, but it was there. It made Jazz's spark leap with hope, even after the tactician's face returned to it's careful neutrality. _All that matters is your safety, Jazz._

They didn't speak the rest of the time, while Jazz refueled and Prowl ran constant scans to make sure the coast was clear to bring Jazz out to where the others were waiting. He hadn't come alone, after all; that wouldn't have been logical. He had brought backup, a medic and a transport. Just in case.

Prowl placed an almost gentle hand on Jazz's undamaged shoulder, warning him just before he pulled the battered agent across his back and stood, bearing the entirety of Jazz's weight, yet still managing to move just as silently as before. Knowing that he would accomplish nothing by trying to help Prowl at this point, Jazz let himself go limp, resting his chin on Prowl's shoulder and breathing in his scent.

The trip to what was left of the Medical Center was in flashes. Still-frames of time: the medic bending over him, the pilot of the transport looking back at him, Prowl's expression of worry. There wasn't enough room to lay down, not with everyone else in there. So Jazz sat, mostly upright, until a bump knocked them all around, causing Prowl's hand to shoot out and steady him, keeping Jazz from pitching forward.

"Lean against me," Prowl murmured. Jazz blinked, then did as he was told, resting against Prowl with his head on his shoulder, smelling Prowl.

It felt good.

The Medical Center was cold, so the point of warmth immediately took Jazz's attention, when he woke. He didn't remember passing out, but that's how things worked. If you remember passing out, you didn't actually pass out, you fell asleep.

He was drifting. Ratchet must have put him on painkillers. But there was that point of warmth that kept distracting him. His whole hand was warm, up to the wrist. Forcing his visor on was a chore, but he was curious about the warmth, so he did...and found Prowl, fast asleep on his hand.

Ah, that was why it was warm.

Jazz drifted again, allowing his visor to go dark and closing his hand gently on Prowl's, not minding that he received no response. The tactician was asleep, so he hadn't expected one.

Prowl's scent was in the air, mingling with the too-sterile smell of the room, and the slight hint of his own mechfluid, left over from the repair. Jazz let it lull him back to sleep, a small smile on his face, as he held Prowl's hand and smelled him.


End file.
